Not So Indigenous
by timelucked
Summary: Sam and Dean have a mission. Something's been attacking civilian workers and leaving them on banks of rivers and it's their job to stop it. With the help of this odd regiment, they think they just might be able to.


_A/N: I wrote this on tumblr, but for fear of somebody using it as their own work, I wanted to post it on here. It's a quick SuperWhoLock story, because I thought I'd dabble in the idea, it recently appealed to me. So enjoy! Critique appreciated but for foreknowledge, this was meant to be as ambiguous as it is._

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><p>"You may not believe me," the man said with an air of caution, a tight smile curling the tips of his lips. "But monsters are real."<p>

"Yeah, yeah," another couldn't sustain the effort it took to roll his eyes as he brusquely walked past the strange British man. He headed for a sleek, black impala and skimmed the exterior until he made it to the trunk. He hefted the lid and started pulling out materials: weapons, salts, stakes. He slammed the trunk and quirked a single brow, his lips puckered unimpressed. "We know."

He handed off a sawed shotgun like it was a baton to a slimmer man beside him whose face bespoke of grave foreboding.

"Oh please," a tall, also British man, scoffed, his fingers clasped beneath his nose. He waved a hand through the air agitatedly. "There is absolutely no such thing as monsters."

The stout man beside him crossed his arms and sniffed.

The previous British man, with his strange hat and penchant for bow ties smirked and sauntered over with legs that moved as fluidly as water.

"I have traversed galaxies, I have _seen_ all the toll 900 years can have on a man. And I _have _seen monsters," he pressed his face up close to the other's. "They're real. And they're out there."

The curt American from before nodded in agreement. "Yup. C'mon, Sammy, time to show these boys what we're up against."

The man muttered under his breath something that sounded like an order not to call him by that name but came up beside the man regardless.

"No, no, it is just," the posh British man with curly black hair scrunched his face at the situation. "Impossible - improbable!"

"Sherlock, listen to them," the stout blonde man groaned in exasperation. "I think you're a bit unqualified in this department."

"A bit unqualifie-" Sherlock whirled on the man affronted.

"You didn't even know about the Solar System," the man sighed out, nodding his head with each word.

The taller man growled, cutting away from his colleague sharply, "I told you I don't have the time or need to remember such things."

The two Americans glanced at each other. "Oh this has nothing to do with the solar system, buddy."

"Ah but actually, it does," the odd man trilled with a great grin.

"Doctor," the man begrudgingly referred to as Sammy tried to reason him out of the equation. Both he and Dean knew that these creatures - these _things_ - were created from the ashes of a tribal chief.

"No, but they do!" he interjected excitably. He bounced in place, then whirled around and began pacing as he explained, "You see, these sort of ... _celestial_ beings are known as the Wychatt, common on the Indingo plains of Karahk. Their only weakness is the sun due to the close proximity the planet has in similarity and distance with Saturnyne - lovely place, frightful women.

"Where was I? Ah, yes, the Wychatt can only be harmed by direct contact with U.V. Radiation, lacking that for most of the year by the extreme distance from the half sun - yes, half sun, don't give me that look, John, there can be such a thing, common! in the 6th System - and submerging themselves deep into their plentiful oceans for the rest of the year as only they can."

At the end of his explanation he gave a tight smile.

"So, _yes_," he turned to the boys. "It _does_ have to do with the solar system."

The man called Dean bobbed the butt of his gun towards him with a defiant face. "Whatever man, all we have to do is find these suckers - and kill them."

"Now, they are most likely near a port, or beach of some kind," began Sam whose voice was soft and earnest. He was quickly cut off by the perpetually mocking and angry Sherlock.

"Stupid child, please. They are nowhere near the sort," he pushed himself into a proper walking start, his comrade eying him as he paced with calculating steps. "These monsters as you so put, they are beneath the bridge." He added haughtily, "Obviously."

Dean shifted his posture, crossing his arms and about ready to duke it out with this pompous asshole. "Oh _really_?" he grunted roughly.

The man picked his gaze up off where it was trained on the edge of the crumbled concrete. "Yes, really," he said almost softly, lacking his normal edge. It returned shortly as he continued. "Don't you see? No, of course you don't. Water, these creatures love water, so beach, right, yes, common solution - if you're an _idiot_," he bit sharply. Sam ground his teeth, his back stiffened but made no move otherwise. The Doctor watched as the man continued, lost in the palatial estate of his mind. "So where then, where, where, _where_? There! It could only _possibly_ be there. The water pollution - where has it taken a turn for the worst?"

"Uh," Dean said.

"Down by the bank of the East," Sam answered, his brows knitting as he sought to see where this was going.

"Correct. And where have bodies of civilian workers been recently found?"

"Down by the East...but why does that matter, you think there's something in the water there?"

Sherlock scoffed. "No, not there, stupid, up by the bridge. Water flows south and just north around the bend is the bridge. Perfect shelter from the sun and easy submerging into the water if necessary. And should any homeless or working men coming to evaluate the condition of the water appear, well, I imagine these beasts have claws and are not at all afraid to use them."

Dean shrugged, feigning indifference while inwardly impressed. "He's right about that, Sam."

The Doctor straightened his tweed jacket with a small smile. "He's right about it all." He turned the smile in Sherlock's direction.

"Brilliant," Watson said with awe.

Sherlock glanced over at him, saw the proud look shining in his friend's eyes, and gave a tight-lipped smile in return, a smile solely reserved for the man and no one else.

"Oh," Watson intoned, trying to get a good handle on the rifle he was given. "Haven't handled these in awhile."

"Watson, you were in Afghanistan and a doctor, you didn't handle those," Sherlock scoffed as he seemed so inclined to.

Watson glared at him dully. "We were all trained to handle a variety of weaponry, you know I'm capable of using things other than a scalpel."

"Oh, you're a doctor!" The Doctor tramped over giddily. "Me too!"

Watson gave him an odd stare, uncomfortable by the close space he was invading. "Um, yes, I know. You're _The Doctor_."

"Look, are we just gonna sit here and chat all day? Ladies, come on," Dean waggled two guns in his hands. "Supernatural creatures to kill here. Let's go."

And off they went, into the maw of danger. Dean couldn't help the smile that grew on his face, even despite the company he had acquired. Later, he would come to groan at the inept killing methods - and by that, he meant that only Watson seemed capable of killing; the Doctor and Sherlock seemed to only evade blows and attacks, neither wanting to kill for their own reasons.

All in all though, he had to say, he had a bit of fun this go around.


End file.
